


The Rocking Horse

by Trekgloria



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 08:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16238177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekgloria/pseuds/Trekgloria
Summary: This was written for a competition held by the Poldark Fan Fiction.  Sadly I didn't win, but congratulations to the lovely author who did! She has her own page and does lovely stories.Nothing naughty about this one, feel safe in that.  And, it's a bit long and a bit philosophical.Any comments are always appreciated.  I strive to be a better write and those who share their opinion are what helps to achieve that, I hope.





	The Rocking Horse

The Rocking Horse  
Ross gently cradled Julia in his arms and kissed her forehead, wanting only to see her sleeping smile once more. Remembering the first time he saw her, embraced by Demelza, and in that moment longing to possess the talent to create a masterpiece of his Madonna embracing their child to exist for all time. More though, Ross was humbled in that together, he and Demelza had created their child, this person, Julia. When holding Julia as an infant Ross always feared he might break her, she seemed so delicate. How often Demelza had teased him for this worry; “Julia is the making of both of us; fierce from me and strong-willed from you Ross.” And their daughter had readily demonstrated her determination to have her way many times.  
Once Julia began to recognize him, whenever she saw her Papa, she would reach out and demand Ross hold her. Patting his face with her tiny hands, offering him kisses, pulling his wayward curls, laughing at the faces he made, and finally the first day Julia called him Papa. As Julia learned to walk, Ross recalled how often she precariously tottered, then hit the floor with a plop, and he would rush to comfort her, pick her up, hold her hands to guide and protect her as she walked around the room. The first time Julia rose from playing when he returned from the mine and walked the eight steps to greet him without falling, Ross lifted her into his arms, then wrote the date in the family Bible beside her birth and told her someday she would read this. But today, Ross had the obligation to add another entry beside her name.  
Though Ross wanted to hold her forever, he needed to go and perform one more task for his daughter. Kissing Julia again, Ross laid her in the bed beside her mother and tucked the covers around her; he hated the idea of her being cold. A groan came from Demelza and in her fevered delirium she thrashed in the bed till he knelt, stroked her hair, and whispered; “Demelza my love, my love, my love. I am here, please rest and be still. I need to leave for a bit, and you must care for Julia while I am gone. Share your warmth with her; know that she lies beside you.”  
When Demelza calmed, Ross kissed her lips, feeling the heat of her fever on his, rose, went down the stairs, and out to the woodshed. As a child, Ross hated being sent to here to do chores. It was always full of motes floating in the sunlight, with divers’ odors from green to moldy wood, and he always left covered in a layer of dust with a taste of sawdust in his mouth. It had been his job to clear out the wood shavings, spread them in the sun to cure, then collect, and store for kindling. Later when Claude Anthony was old enough, Ross pressed him to take on this task. But too soon, requiring his little brother to do all the chores he hated ended when Claude Anthony died, and the responsibility again became his. However, Joshua rarely doled out chores after his Grace died; few things within the house received his father’s attention. And those were left to Prudie who spent most of her time scolding Jud for some real or imagined transgression, swilling gin, gossiping, and barely keeping the livestock out of the house.  
After Claude Anthony’s death, all attempts at parenting ceased for Joshua. Ross recalled how his father took him to see his brother, lying cold in the coffin, his only words; “Claude Anthony has gone to the blest above with your Mother.” With that statement Joshua turned and sought to numb his sorrow and pain with drink and a return to the delinquencies he pursued before Grace married him. Yet Ross knew what needed to be done to manage the home. And though he found no pleasure in the work, that first winter after his mother passed, so many tasks left neglected, taught him the importance of even the smallest chores; each had an impact on the success of the estate and the comfort of those who lived there.  
In those next few years after his mother died, Ross realized the differences between his parents. Grace had managed the household with a military efficiency, knowing and understanding how each minor detail dovetailed into the overall process. However, Joshua always had his eyes on the horizon, the next free trading adventure to outwit the King's excise men, reaching a new mine level with a rich lode, or some success he was sure to arrive directly. Joshua, never more than barely anchored to the reality of routine life, had depended on Grace to keep him on an even keel. Ross realized from his mother, he acquired the values of conviction, purpose, and tenacity, though fearing he often lacked these in sufficient disposition. While from his father, Ross inherited a character too often focused on an ephemeral perspective of desires, hopes, and dreams. Together, Grace and Joshua combined their strengths and compensated for the others’ weaknesses, loved, and created a life for their boys.  
Of the characteristics inherited from his parents, Ross feared from one he lacked in quantity and from the other he held in excess. Dealing with the challenges he encountered daily, Ross realized the loss of his mother so early in his life left a void Grace would have filled with more of her even temperament and mitigated the recklessness of his father. But without the presence and guidance of his mother, Ross began to mirror Joshua, turning to a life filled with physical gambles and illegal ventures. Ross recognized it was his experiences in the war that reforged his character, one more balanced and in line with his mother’s influence, and less, he hoped, of his father’s wanton excesses. For Ross, returning from the war to take up his heritage, trying to balance these conflicting qualities, and navigate along an unaccustomed path was a burden he did not want to undertake alone. What Ross found and eventually treasured in Demelza was someone who brought a canny approach to life; she heartened him, shared, eased, and steadied his life’s journey. And in this moment Ross wanted and needed Demelza as never before, but feared like Eurydice, she would slip away, follow Julia, and leave him behind; bereft of hope, a man without love, doomed as Orpheus to wander till reunited in the next world.  
After his return from the war Ross assigned the woodshed chore to Jud. But, the man in his singular competence to avoid work bade Demelza take it up. Until the day Ross discovered Demelza coughing till she nearly had a fit from the dust. Every time she performed the task, Demelza experienced coughing spasms and tightness in her chest for several days. Ross commanded Jud do this job and threatened should he discover his giving it over to Demelza, he would take the horse whip to him. It was the one chore Demelza thanked Ross for shifting the work to Jud and not requiring her to do it. Those were their halcyon days though, considerate master and grateful servant. For Ross, life then was simple; work hard, invest in the estate and mine to provide a keeping for those whom he owed an obligation. Remembering those times, Ross could scarcely believe from whence they had come from and now to this moment.  
But since Julia’s first birthday, the woodshed became a place Ross stole away to, being careful not to let Demelza know why he went. Even changing his clothes, as her reaction to the dust would have revealed his secret. But Ross conceived of a plan and was determined to surprise Demelza. No small feat to conceal anything from his wife, who had a cunning to ferret out any secret or hidden thing; thankfully the woodshed was the one place she actually avoided. But this secret Ross would take to his grave, one he must now keep from Demelza forever, to spare her more pain.  
Entering the woodshed, Ross pulled out the long straight planks; he remembered the day he found the Alder tree beside the small duck pond struck by lightning from the storm the night before and split in two. Following the old ways, one did not cut down an Alder; some considered the tree enchanted, seeming to flow with blood, as the wood took on a reddish color when cured. When Ross found it downed by the storm he realized what a prize he had acquired. Demelza eagerly collected the flowers to make a green dye, the fairies favorite she declared, and a color perfectly suited to her. Ross remembered his mother, a woman who seemed to know about everything, as she shared her knowledge about the plants she grew and the wild ones on the land as well. As a young child, Ross loved to climb and play in the Alder for the legends his mother told him the tales, of the hero Bran, who carried a shield made from its wood. The Alder bestowed protection, something Ross had sought to do for his daughter. And the love story of Deirdre and Naoise, how when threatened they hid in the Alder groves. And the Alder reflected his and Demelza’s love, one tree able to produce offspring. Ross realized it was Julia who had completely seamed them together, two joined as one with invisible stitches for the love for their child. But today Ross wondered, had finding this tree been a portent of grief, foretold an omen of mourning? Ross remembered the old lore, this was the tree linked with death and rebirth, now he realized it would cradle his daughter.  
Examining the boards, Ross had paid the local sawmill to cut and plane the timbers; then he sanded each piece smooth, till shiny with his polishing. Working in secret, for months, though Ross had little time nor the skill necessary, he was determined to create a rocking horse as a present for Julia for her second birthday. Ross remembered whispering to her the promise of her very own horse to ride when she demanded to sit in the saddle before he left for the day. Grace, an expert horsewoman, taught Ross to ride as a young child, and demanded he be as well seated. This was to be Julia’s first horse to ride, though he would eventually buy her a pony and teach her as a tribute to his mother. But today, Ross required the remaining wood for a different purpose and began construction. This would be far less complicated, take little time, or require more than basic carpentry skills to create. Within three hours Ross had finished constructing it and examined his handiwork; so very small he thought. With a few nails and planks Ross had provided Julia’s last need on this earth.  
Suddenly the grief overwhelmed him, stoically he had managed thus far, but looking at this little box broke his spirit and Ross wept. These were the first tears Ross had shed since his mother died so many years past. Julia gone, taken from him, the loss of his daughter, more than others suffered, perhaps not, but this death was one Ross was not sure he could endure. Steadying himself, Ross saw that his tears had fallen into the box, drops of his pain seeping into the wood; traces of his love to accompany her.  
Taking the separate pieces; rockers, seat, legs, and head of the horse already completed, Ross placed them in in the box; Julia would have her rocking horse. Hoisting the coffin on his shoulder, Ross carried it from the woodshed into the house and placed it on the library table. How many evenings had he sat here and held Julia for a bit as Demelza finished chores before bed. Never again he realized and went up the stairs to the bedroom.  
Looking at the bed with Demelza lying there, again fearing she was so ill and might not survive to ever know, instead following Julia; a thought Ross could not suffer to contemplate. Surveying the bed chamber, Ross thought how Julia was conceived, born, and today died here; her short life so intricately bound within this room.  
He went to the airing cupboard and took a new feather pillow, a small sheet, then several blankets for his daughter’s pall. Taking the items downstairs Ross made a soft pallet in the coffin for Julia as more of his tears fell and seeped into the fabric, fresh libation offered as love for his daughter.  
Ross returned to the bedroom, went to the wardrobe, and looked inside. Hanging there were all of Julia’s dresses, arranged from the first ones she wore as a tiny babe to those she had tumbled about the garden in, each handmade by Demelza. He found the one he was seeking at the end of the peg, white covered with lace and frilly adornments. Demelza had taken one of Grace’s silk petticoats, white as sea caps, soft as Cornish wool, and smooth as the sea on a slick calm day. Demelza labored for nights on this one dress, deftly sewing each stitch, often ripping out all her work over and over, muttering at her lack of skill, determined to make each stitch so tiny as to be invisible. When Ross inquired as to why she was so mulish, Demelza paused; “This is for our angel and I have never known of an angel wearing clothes that had stitches, so this has to be as close to what they wear in heaven as I can make it.” When Demelza finished the dress, she showed it to him, embellished with lace, embroidery, and other adornments Ross could not identify. Ross recalled at the time reviewing the monies spent on the mine, he had half glanced at it, smiled, told Demelza how lovely it was, patted her on the buttocks, then turned back to his work. Worry, Ross realized too often kept him from being appreciative of all the efforts and toil Demelza did for him, for Julia, for the house.  
Though this dress had taken hours of sewing to complete, Julia wore it only once, just a few days before, going to church on her second Christmas. As they lingered after the service and spoke with their fellow worshipers that morning, all the women admired Demelza’s skill at sewing, commenting they were unable to see her stitches, so tiny and invisible. Praise from the local women Demelza enjoyed hearing, but she turned and regarded Ross, it was his admiration she always craved and preferred. Ross remembered smiling at her and repeating the women’s compliments, then adding how skilled Demelza was in all undertakings. Keeping a home he was loath to leave in the morning, often lingering in bed, and with Demelza on his mind, sought to finish his day and hurry back to her every night. The women looked at Ross, smiled slyly at Demelza and remarked; “What it must be to have such a husband who so valued her.”  
Demelza, blushed deeply, but was well gladdened with his praise and their accolades. Demelza had lived on those compliments for days, asking if Ross recalled what they said, as she was so concerned with Julia making a fuss, she had hardly heard their words. Each time he recounted their admiration, Ross found he added a little embellishment, which made Demelza blush deeper and smile all the wider.  
That something so trifling brought Demelza such pleasure reminded Ross of how humble she was. On his journeys to town, Demelza requested items for the house, for him, for Julia, but never asked for anything for herself. Though she loved presents, Demelza worried that the money spent on her could be better used for other needs. Instead it was her constant attention, a knowing what to do and when, which ensured a comfortable and well managed life, one Ross missed after his mother died. It was Demelza who brought life and love back to Nampara, to him, and to their child.  
Holding Julia’s dress, Ross recalled how Demelza had taken to sewing. At first, joining him in the library in the evenings while still a servant, then undertaking the mending of his often-torn shirts and breeches, though she despaired of having the skills necessary to repair the clothes of a gentleman. But, with determination and practice she became an expert seamstress. Demelza would sit with him for hours mending the tiniest of rips, darning his socks, and eventually refitting his mother’s dresses Ross gave her. In those shared evenings, while Demelza was still a servant, already they had grown into a couple at ease and comfortable in spending time together; she capably managing the household while he oversaw the mine and fields; they melded.  
As Demelza wore the restyled outfits, each brought a memory of his life as a child, but also created new ones for Ross the man. Still the thought of Demelza wearing his mother’s dress that night came flooding back to him. The shock of seeing it on Demelza, knowing her as his servant, though yet not conscious of her as a young woman who aroused him. It was that dress which echoed a past which Ross had lost and thought never to know again, nor could he abide to suffer the pain those memories roused. But in that moment Ross saw Demelza afresh, his servant, a young girl no more, instead a woman who desired him. Those memories overwhelmed his senses and awakened in Ross a longing for love, for passion, and seeking a return to an easiness of his youth. All emotion of love Ross had sacrificed since his return with the loss of Elizabeth, till that night, seeing that dress on Demelza.  
On a smuggling run Joshua acquired the dress in France. Probably stolen, and then sold on to the Cornishman, as it was far above in quality of fabric and expertise in sewing of any of the dresses found at local shops. But, as Joshua had little respect for lines of ownership; he paid five guineas for this dress, then meticulously wrapped it in several layers of papers, sail cloth, and finally his own coat to prevent any chance of wetting by the sea spray. When Joshua gave it to Grace, his mother laughed at the elegance of wrapping, suggesting the haberdasher in Truro could take a lesson from him.  
The dress was silk, and as he offered it to Grace, Joshua said he bought it as it matched the color of her eyes. Ross knew his father had little use for flattery, yet for Grace, Joshua noticed everything. But when Grace saw it, the French style, she knew well what Joshua intended. And though Grace declared the dress was too dear for their quiet life at Nampara, she loved it. Joshua demanded she wear it that night for supper. And that evening, when Grace entered the room, even as a child, Ross could see how beautiful his mother was and how much his father loved her. Joshua insisted Grace sit on his knee, running his hand along the fabric, baited her, declaring it was smoother than her skin.  
But Grace possessed a quick wit borne from years of loving banter with her husband and responded; “What do you expect Joshua Poldark? Me, a gentle born lady who lowered her prospects to marry the second son, one barely above the law, and from a nigh destitute family; and now I have to spend my days growing vegetables to put food on your table.” Grace teased; “Perhaps I chose to dance with the wrong brother that night at the ball, maybe my dearest friend Verity Michell picked the better brother to marry.”  
Joshua and Grace both laughed at this, some secret joke shared between them about Uncle Charles and Aunt Verity, and then they kissed. Whatever Joshua became after Grace died, Ross knew how much his father loved his mother. That was the love Ross craved to know and experience, the life and devotion Grace and Joshua shared.  
Before Jim’s trial on that day, Ross had planned to stay in town that night, but after hearing the sentence, he could not abide any association with those men who had passed such a Draconian judgement on the boy. Those magistrates actually considered Ross as one of them, a member of the noble gentry. It was repugnant to Ross to be so regarded, an insult that these recreant pillars of power, believing he shared so little care for others simply for being poor, born in a cottage, not spawned from the loins of the titleholder of an ancient and decrepit name. So instead of visiting the local working woman, Margret for whom Ross held some small regard, to ease his frustration and disappointment, he rode home, arriving late. But, as he sat debased by his ennobled society, tormented by his impotence in protecting someone he held responsibility for, Ross turned to see Demelza wearing his mother’s dress. And suddenly, seeing that dress on Demelza became a potent symbol for Ross. His servant assuming the right to adorn and strut about as a lady, as if she was entitled to such a rank and privilege. In that moment Ross behaved as the rest of the gentry; assuming that members of his class and rank somehow inherently deserved a greater value by virtue of birth.  
Anger had been Ross’ first response, his servant, raising herself up to the level of his mother, that dress which was evidence of his father’s love for his mother. What had this child been thinking to take the dress of a lady and prance around Nampara. Yet, when Ross spoke harshly to Demelza, she cried and begged for him to see her as a woman. Was Demelza embarrassed at being caught or truly hurt by his repudiation of her yearning for him? Nearly succumbing in that moment to the girl seeking his attention, kissing her briefly, holding her in his arms, the day’s despair began to fade with the taste of her kiss and the feel of her body against his. Ross was close to surrendering to his physical longings, losing control, and taking her to ease the pain and satisfy the desire that burned in him this night. Though it was what he required and craved in the moment, Ross resisted and imagined he redeemed himself, by chastising Demelza’s behavior as simple girlish fantasies.  
Ross left Demelza in the library and retreated to his bedroom. But moments later, the timid knock, Demelza sheepishly entered his room and requested assistance to undo the lacings of the bodice. As his hands pulled and loosened each lace of the dress, it parted and revealed her smooth skin, Ross was overcome with longing for this young woman and a yearning for his own hurts to be eased in the throes of passion. In that moment Ross could not untangle his desire for Demelza from his need for a release from the grievance of the day. The dress served as the linchpin of his future, binding Ross’ nostalgia for a past dream to his current desires.  
That night, joining with Demelza ensured Ross no longer dwelt in the fantasy of what might have been, nor seeking some sort of debauched consolation from a working woman. Instead this girl had reached womanhood under his very nose and wanted him; even knowing him, his every mood, his every quarrel, his every hurt, she wanted him; and that night Ross wanted Demelza. That dress was the magic boon Demelza offered and Ross fell under her spell. For Ross, love for Demelza had not come that night, only the loving.  
But in the morning, all reflection on what happened and why returned to challenge his notions and ply his inhibitions. Easy to shut out thoughts of the impediments and qualms in the darkness when you are holding and loving a woman who filled you with desire, but alone in the harsh glare of daylight, scrutiny forced you to doubt yourself. Like a hangover from an excess of brandy, you question your behavior of the night before, feeling unsettled and ashamed at your conduct.  
And then Elizabeth arrived and the two women stood before Ross in the same room, so different in history, in perspective, and in intentions. Porcelain and earthenware, as he recalled comparing them. An old memory from his childhood awakened in Ross’ mind; his parents used his mother’s cherished porcelain cups for tea, but he and Claude Anthony were only allowed to use the earthenware beakers. Wanting to taste and understand the difference, one day when everyone was out of the house, Ross made tea and drank it from a porcelain cup. Ross discovered the taste was unchanged; nothing was improved or bettered when sipped from the porcelain than when drunk from the earthenware. There was a disappointment that the tea had not somehow transformed into a magical potion as he imagined the expensive, richly ornamented, and fragile cup must do. And in his fear of being caught, Ross hastily drank the brew and attempted to clear the evidence but dropped the cup and it shattered. Believing no one would notice, Ross cleared the broken remains and hid them.  
It was several days before his mother realized a cup was missing and at first questioned Pruddie, and though she had various faults, lying was beyond her cunning, something his mother recognized. Grace came to him, and although Ross intended to blame his brother, he was unable to withstand the scrutiny of his mother’s gaze and confessed his misdeed. Though Grace was angry at his trying to hide what he had done, when Ross explained why, his mother softened. Grace explained that earthenware or porcelain mattered not, it was what was within that was important; that was true also for people. The external elegance was a silly contrivance people too often based their lives on and was not what was important. Porcelain or earthenware mattered not, the true pleasure came from what was found within.  
With that memory of what his mother had tried to teach him, Ross came to an understanding; he could remain the man his society expected him to be or he could damn them all and take a woman who desired him, was willing to sacrifice what little she possessed and offer it to him, as his wife. Where she came from mattered not, it was who Demelza was on the inside that mattered. Demelza wanted him, maybe that was enough. To expect the marriage Grace and Joshua shared clearly was not his fate. Relegating himself to being loved by another seemed a small price to pay for finally accepting that Elizabeth would never be his. Could he tell the difference between a draught of water drunk from porcelain or earthenware? Already Francis had lost his appreciation for Elizabeth, maybe it was better this way. Fool, fool, too long a fool Ross realized after that night.  
With the decision to marry Demelza, Ross redefined his future, no longer bound to adhere to the conventions of his class or kowtow to what others expected. Ross now had a purpose beyond himself, to take a woman who loved him, offer her the position of his wife, and enjoy this life as he could. Still in the first weeks of their marriage Ross wrestled to come to grips with the entanglement in his mind of Demelza the girl, his servant and Demelza the woman, his wife. Early in their marriage as she addressed him, Demelza too struggled to remember to call him Ross and not sir. The girl worked, as she had, managing the house during the day and yet at night climbed the stairs with him and transformed into his wife who joined him in his bed where they came together and loved.  
As the summer wore on after the wedding, a sort of enchantment settled on them; at night Demelza became a changeling, a loving wife, as eager to please Ross in bed as when she was only his scullery maid keeping his home. His life was lived as what he knew his parents had shared. And Ross’ nights were no longer dominated with frustrating dreams and nagging desires he failed to dispel or ease on his own. Instead his nights with Demelza were filled with joining, and a satisfaction Ross had not experienced before. In his denial of pleasure fueled by Elizabeth’s rejection, no longer was Ross wracked with guilt for betraying his naive promise when using the working women to satisfy his carnal appetites. Perhaps the vicar, when quoting scripture to Ross; that it was better to marry than burn, had meant this. Demelza accepted his loving, became a willing and enthusiastic partner, and asked for nothing more. Yet Ross knew she harbored a fear that he only married her out of a sense of obligation and not for love, knowing he had given that to another, an uneasiness he could not honorably dispel.  
And Ross had been satisfied with that life for some time. That Julia was not conceived from their initial joining or even in those first months after the marriage, was a relief for Ross as a protection for Demelza. Ross knew many in the community were counting back from Julia’s birth to when she was conceived. At least those gossips would know the marriage was not out of requirement, but choice. Today though, Ross realized when Julia was conceived. It had been that night of the pilchards when Ross realized he truly loved Demelza that the Fates gave them Julia.  
It was mid-August, the night they went out in the skiff to watch the villagers harvest the pilchards. Ross rowed them around to Sawle and after sailing through the flotilla of boats, they drifted out of the main harvesting area and snuggled together under the rug. Watching the bobbing lights of the boats, rocked by gentle waves, lulled by the soft slap of the current as it smacked against the skiff, warmed by the brandy, and holding Demelza, Ross realized how happy and content he was at last. The life and feelings he had been seeking for so long were realized when he accepted Demelza’s love. This then was the life and love his parents possessed, sharing quiet moments, working together, living and loving, finding pleasures in the small episodes that made up life, all while wanting and desiring each other.  
When they returned to Nampara that night, Ross undressed Demelza, and as he removed each item, it was as a blind man given sight for the first time. This was the night when Ross finally acknowledged to himself that he loved Demelza. Not his former servant who surrendered herself to him; but a woman he loved and who loved him in return, not for what he gave to her, but for himself. And Ross loved Demelza just as she was. For Ross their joining that night in August was not about easing an ache, satisfying a need, but truly loving her as his cherished wife. Surely that was the night Julia was conceived, the result of two people loving and in love.  
That Demelza had kept the knowledge of being with child from him for so many months reflected his failure to adequately express his love for her. When Demelza finally shared the news, something he should have realized in those months, but failed to, prompted Ross to finally confess his feelings for her. In part Ross had trepidation about bring a child into their life, the concerns of being able to provide for it, and the danger to Demelza, but their loving always meant a child was a possibility. And Julia had been the reward for their love.  
Ross poured water from the ewer warmed by the fire into the basin, took Julia from the bed, and held her against his chest for a moment. Placing Julia on the bureau beside her cot, Ross removed her clothes; then tenderly washed his daughter as he had watched Demelza do so often. Ross dressed her in clean pantaloons, the dress without stitches for their angel, so devotedly made by Demelza, tiny socks, and shoes. Looking at her, Ross saw how beautiful she was. As he went to put the tiny cap on her head, Ross paused, took a pair of scissors and cut one of Julia’s curls, he saw the tiny ribbon with her name embroidered and slipped it off her arm, twining it with the curl, wrapped them carefully in one of Demelza’s handkerchiefs and laid it on the pillow in her cot, a sacred treasure to offer Demelza. Ross turned and placed Julia beside Demelza for the last time. Looking at his daughter and wife, Ross realized how much Julia was the result of two people who found love for each other and shared it with their child.  
In this room, Julia had been born, arriving after an aberrant May storm. The clouds like skittish foals commanded from the sky; the sea maddened, frothed and battered the ancient rocks, sending up spin-drift. The wind shook and assaulted anything daring to stand before it, sucking the salt out of the spray and spewing it across the land, heralding a blight which destroyed everything it touched. Had Ross been tainted by this unwholesomeness on his journey to demand Doctor Choake return and deliver the babe? Feeling useless to provide any assistance during her labor, Ross remembered Demelza’s one request as she grabbed his hand before he left; tell her that he loved her, and in her labor adding the appeal; say that he didn’t love Elizabeth. Ross gladly said he loved her and spoke the answer Demelza needed to hear in her pain; though deeply confused that he was even then still uncertain about any continued feelings for Elizabeth. But here, now, Ross wondered, how had there been any muddle in his passions.  
Looking at them lying side by side, Ross thought how often he had come home those first few months after Julia’s birth to find Demelza had fallen asleep after nursing the babe. He would take Julia from her mother’s arms, look at her tiny face, often smiling in her sleep, kiss her, and put her in her cradle, then join Demelza in the bed. Seeing Demelza lying beside Julia, unaware of what had been lost; afraid that if she knew, she would choose to slip away to follow her child into the Blest Above and leave him alone, without her. Ross sank to his knees, his head on Demelza’s breast and begged her to stay with him.  
As he looked at Demelza, Ross took the scissors again and sniped a long curl from her, then looked in the mirror and pulled a long section of his own hair and cut one of his own curls. Julia refused to be set down without grasping a handful of hair, her fingers entwined she grasped their hair each time either set her down her. Was it a sacrifice she demanded as a determination not to be ignored? Taking one of Demelza’s hair ribbons, Ross tied the two curls together and wrapped Julia’s tiny fingers around it to take with her. Though they both might turn grey, surely in heaven when Julia saw them again they would be returned to their youth and she would remember them. Lifting Demelza’s hand, Ross guided it, allowing her to caress Julia’s face one last time. Taking Julia from the bed, Ross carried her down the stairs, into the library where she had played happily between them, guarded by Garrick. Ross placed her in the casket. Looking at Julia, Ross was sure, she was only asleep, but he needed to believe she was now with Grace. Ross kissed her once last time. Tears fell again in this last moment, burning his cheeks, lingering on his lips, salty as the sea, bitter as gall, and painful as drowning. Closing the lid, Ross shut out the light for eternity.


End file.
